Thoughts streamed through my head in a long reverie. This wasn't a dream. I had no direct glimpses of the future, but scenarios played out one after the other. To be blunt, none of them seemed even slightly workable. If I tried to meet Janis Joplin or Jimi Hendrix, I'd look like an over-eager fan at best, at worst like a hopelessly deluded opportunist. My one advantage was that I knew when and where their deaths would happen, but it wasn't much of a help.

For Joplin, it would be nearby in Hollywood. For Hendrix it would be in London, a long trip to make on such a slim hope. Grasping at straws, I considered tracking down my old colleague, assuming she'd settled in London as she said. I'd ring her up.

"Janet, I know you weren't expecting to hear from me, but there's a big favor I need..." I imagined myself saying, "because, I have, uh, important information about, uh, the future, and I know it's a lot to ask, but I don't know anyone else in London who can help me."

I'd keep that plan in reserve. Clearly there were a few knots to work out. Now suppose I managed to get meetings with two of the best known rock stars of the day. Then what? "I want to talk about your drug problem." Right. That makes for a short conversation. In fact, I'd probably seem like a narc before I opened my mouth. People sense that kind of thing. And... honestly they already had close friends who would know a lot more about it than me. Those friends were going to fail. Who was I kidding?

Another possibility was to nudge events from the outside. This was more realistic. Just distract them a little, like I did with those kids at Altamont. Other artists with self-destructive habits had made it through rough spots and lived long after. If a flight could be delayed, a taxi caught in traffic... all sorts of minor things. I'd been reading all I could about time travel since discovering my gift. I thought of that old story about the crushed butterfly that changed history. Who wrote that? Anyway, the smallest thing could make a huge difference.

Just then, the phone rang. I wasn't usually at home this time of day, and I didn't get a lot of personal calls to start with. Most likely, it was a wrong number, but I answered.

"Hello, am I speaking to Mr. Kincaid?"

"Yes. Who is this? How do you have my number?" (which I never gave out to clients or clubs)

"Pardon the intrusion. You are Mr. Reuben Kincaid, music agent?"

"One and the same. Sorry, not taking new clients," I said with a studied impatience. "How did you get my number?"

"Oh, directory assistance. It's listed. I don't mean to be presumptuous. If it helps, we are not prospective clients."

"We?"

"Yes, I represent an established recording company. I can tell you more if and when you're interested. We've been watching your work."

"Really?" I felt violated but a little intrigued. I'd hear them out anyway.

"You have quite a portfolio of acts in your charge. We're impressed."

"Really, I'm flattered, but there are lot of agents in this city."

"Of course. It's just that we've had this experience again and again. We go into a packed club, and it's a band we have never heard of before. We can't figure out their appeal, but they obviously have a a built-in audience. Then we ask around, who represents them? It's always Reuben Kincaid."

"Well, it's true, I represent all kinds of acts," I explained with a forced chuckle, "I like to say that my speciality is variety."

"Heh. Very good. Well, we like variety. What we really like are hits. And we think you have a talent for spotting them. Take that one, uh, with the lady keyboardist."

"Yeah, one of my favorites. But you know, there's nothing magic about it. She's a conservatory-trained harpsichordist. I don't think she even realizes it, but she's a true pioneer mixing pop and baroque like that. "

"Right, we ran the numbers too, so to speak, and it always makes sense in retrospect. But you're there ahead of everyone. That's the magic. So in short, we wonder if you'd like to meet."

"For?"

"Look, maybe you get a kick out of freelancing. I understand that. But let's chat. I think we might be able to persuade you. Salary, bonus, that kind of thing. What kind of commission are you getting?"

"Um..."

"No pressure. But if you think you might be interested..."

I took their number and said I'd consider it. In fact, I liked my life as an agent a great deal. I also enjoyed working with Harold. But this could be big. It might be worth following up.